Captive
by Secret-Ninja1
Summary: Alfred F. Jones is a cop that takes up a case involving a murderer that only goes after police. He ends up in the murder's hands and it's up to him to figure this guy out.


The crack of bone was all that registered in his mind, his fist tightening as the familiar spark of pain flashed through his hand. His palms were sweaty, dirt contaminating his skin as another blow to the jaw was delivered.

Men were surrounding him, all dressed in cliched black suits and ties. Had the American not been busy, he would have pictured himself in some sort of cheap mafia movie. Him being the main character, of course.

He stood there, his eyes flickering towards each one, studying them carefully. His eyes narrowed as one ran up behind him, his body automatically responding without so much as a thought. His hand gripped onto his arm, side-stepping around the man and twisting his limb back until it broke.

A scream ripped from the man's throat and he kicked him down, the man writhing on the ground as his arm laid limp and contorted beside him.

Another came after him, a previously concealed knife wielded in his left hand, the blade hardly missing him by an inch as he ducked. He sent a swift kick to the man's feet, knocking him off balance and slamming his head on the floor.

It continued like that until the last man was out cold and he scanned the group of unconscious bodies that littered the ground. None of them looked as though they were getting up any time soon. He was lucky it ended up the way it did, he didn't want to kill anyone just for the sake of winning.

However, there were times where he had no choice.

Sighing, he walked over to where his gloves were dropped, picking them up carefully before dusting them off and shoving them in his pocket. He made his way to the door, not bothering to look back as he left and walked outside.

The streets were busy and people strode along the sidewalk as if they were in a hurry: a husband who was late for a dinner his wife generously prepared, or perhaps a girlfriend who had plans for her date to the movies and was hoping to get there early.

No one was aware of the fight that had occurred in the bar a few minutes prior, nor would they even bat an eye to help. The city was always full of low lives and underground businessmen who often owned shady companies and sought out people who would do anything for money.

However, saying that underground men were no good liars and such would be almost hypocritical. He was one, after all.

Alfred F. Jones, an underground cop that had taken matters into his own hands and left to pursue a certain someone. He had been tracking a man who had long since been causing trouble in his city, and he was far beyond turning him into authorities. He wanted him dead.

The case was filed since the beginning of last year, though no one would ever want to take on the case after his co-workers started dying days after they would accept the work. Just a month before, the case almost went cold until Alfred took a shot at it.

The man was capable of many terrifying ways of torture, though most of them were unknown, but he was known for only abducting cops and investigators that were following his case or managed to find him. Some had returned weeks later, battered and bruised and their mental health was below what was considered normal. They weren't in their right minds to tell the police what he looked like or where they were. However, soon after they would return, those same men would end up dead in their homes or in the streets. Something was injected in their blood stream and the medical team has yet to figure out what the mysterious man used to kill them. The others never came back and were assumed dead.

Either way you look at it, no one knows a thing about what he looks like, nor do they have any idea just _what _he does. Rumors said the faceless man had recently stopped by at the bar for a drink, but the gentlemen Alfred had encountered there were less than pleased with his arrival. It was a shame, too, he really wanted to ask them if they knew anything.

He continued walking, making a sharp turn before finding himself at his apartment building. He stepped inside and took the elevator up to his floor, biting the inside of his cheek as he waited for it to stop. He had to admit, his job paid well and he was glad he rented out a rather classy apartment near his work.

Once he got to his home, he locked the door behind him and turned on the faucet in his bathroom, washing his hands under the stream of water. A bit of dirt had stuck under his fingernails and there was a small cut on his thumb, most likely from his fight earlier.

He gently dried his hands off with a nearby towel and took off his jacket, tossing it onto his bed with the rest of his clothes. As he prepared to step into the shower, his phone rang from his pant pocket, Alfred digging into his pile of clothes to answer it.

"Hello?" He began to run the shower head, listening into the phone as he waited for the water to turn hot.

_ "Good evening, Alfred-san. I apologize for calling this late, but I think I may have something important for you to see. Are you able to drop by?"_

"Hm? Oh, sure, when do you want me over?" Alfred placed his hand under the water and quickly pulled back, hissing before turning down the temperature.

_ "If it isn't too much trouble, tomorrow morning? I assumed you were already in bed, so I did not want to keep you up much longer."_

The man shrugged, the gesture obviously invisible over the phone. "Yeah, almost. I'll see you around ten, if that's alright with you?"

_ "Ten is fine. I will be sure to call you before hand if anything comes up."_

Alfred grinned. "Okay, sounds good. Thanks for doing this, Kiku, you're really taking a big load off. See you then." He hung up and set his phone on the sink before stepping under the shower spray, sighing in content as the warm droplets massaged his back.

He stared at the picture blankly, his mind barely processing the face in front of him. He let it fall softly on the desk, his eyes narrowing in new concentration.

"How did you manage to find him?" Alfred turned to face the short Japanese man next to him.

"I have my sources, Alfred-san, that is all you need to know." Kiku leaned to the side and placed his hand on his cheek, his elbow resting on the arm of his office chair. His legs were crossed and his eyes had bags under them, indicating a lack of sleep. "It took quite awhile to find him, but we believe that this is the man you are looking for."

The American's brows furrowed in confusion, the picture of the man he was searching for looked nothing like who he had anticipated. He was expecting a buff-looking man, thirty or so, with all kinds of scars and maybe had a cigar in his mouth.

The man in the picture was dressed in a suit, blond messy hair was hidden under a hat and his eyebrows were certainly something to laugh at. Looking the man over, he seemed shorter than him, judging from the distance the photo was taken, and he was a bit scrawny. His expression was neutral, unwavering. He didn't look like the type of guy that would take a police force hostage and kill them in cold blood. It looked as though he was more of a gentleman, not a psychopath.

"How much more do you have on this guy? Any information on his name? Where he lives?"

"Please refrain from all the questioning, I can only answer one at a time." Kiku offered a small, lazy smile before he looked down at the same picture in thought. "We only managed to discover him walking the streets of the city, we have no clue just where he is living, nor his birth name. I sent a few people to find out, but I am still waiting for a response."

Alfred's eyes widened. "Do you think he got to them? Kiku, this guy _murders _people who are tracking him. There's no telling when he'll take another-"

"I am well aware of that, thank you." Kiku lifted his head and leaned back, lacing his fingers together in front of his chest. "While the question still stands if my men are dead or not, that does not explain what I am really worried about."

The man shifted his weight on one foot, his fingers lightly tapping against the wooden desk to his left. "And what is that?"

Kiku's eyes narrowed in growing anxiety. "Why has he not killed you yet?"

* * *

Alfred shoved his hands in his pockets, kicking the door closed behind him. Sighing, he sat down at the edge of his bed and toed his shoes off without much effort. He had forgotten to eat breakfast this morning, his stomach growling in protest. Running a hand through his hair, he sighed again and laid back against the bed sheets.

_ "What are you talking about? I've been taking this case for a month, don't you think that maybe-"_

_ "That is exactly the point, Alfred-san. You have been on this case for a month. From what I had gathered, most of the men were dead before a week of the case."_

_ Alfred stopped, lowering his gaze to the desk. "... Maybe I'm just lucky. After all, I hardly even made a break in the case, maybe he hasn't noticed."_

_ "But I did." Kiku uncrossed his legs and sat up, tapping at the picture in front of him. "The picture. This is what is going to make a break in the case, this is what is going to get you killed. I would watch my back more carefully from now on, if I were you."_

Alfred grit his teeth together lightly, staring up at the ceiling in his room. "Dammit, Kiku ... I know that already."

* * *

A week had passed, Alfred constantly having to bring his gun with him at all times as well as a pair of handcuffs in case he ever found the criminal in a public setting and couldn't shoot. He would always have to check behind him on the streets and bars, double locking his doors and window before going to bed.

The anxiety and growing fear was weighing him down, he had lost sleep in the matter of days and he found himself drinking more and more coffee to keep him alert. It was never enough. By the time it was noon, Alfred was still yawning and his eyes were failing to stay open.

It felt as though the murderer would come in at any moment and kill him on the spot, thus preventing him from giving into the temptation of sleeping. He was starting to come down with something, occasionally sniffling and clearing his throat. He couldn't remember the last time he had gotten sick, nor when he had felt this exhausted before.

He drank quickly, the bitter taste of beer sloshing against his teeth and hitting his tongue with waves of the liquid. He stared down at the table where his beer had made a wet ring in front of him, the bar table tainted with age and spills that were never quite cleaned up correctly.

He rubbed his eyes from under his glasses and groaned to himself. It was only one drink, but he wasn't feeling well enough to finish off the rest of the bottle.

Instead, he paid for the beer and left, leaving the drink on the table and exiting the bar with his hands in his pockets.

As he stepped out of the elevator, Alfred walked along the corridor of his apartment floor, checking his watch for the time. It was late in the evening, but not nearly midnight as he reached his home.

Grabbing the keys, he stopped, eyes trained on the slightly ajar door to his room. It was hardly open, but it was obvious someone had picked the lock and got in.

His hands automatically pulled the gun from the inside of his jacket, clicking the safety off and aiming it ahead of him. He kicked the door open, the wooden surface colliding with the interior walling of his apartment. The room was dark, the only light coming in was from the hallway, though it only lit up a few feet of the room.

Alfred stepped inside, cautious of any sudden movements in the darkness. There was always the chance that the intruder had already left, though nine times out of ten the person would still be in the area by the time the owner would come home.

He kept his guard up as he made his way to the light switch, blindly flipping it and turning on the lights to his small living room. Nothing seemed to be out of place: everything was where it was left and nothing was broken or missing.

That meant this wasn't just a normal burglary.

Just as he was advancing to his kitchen, his phone rang from his pant pocket. The American quickly grabbed it from his pocket and answered it. "Kiku?" He balanced the phone with his neck, resting it on his shoulder as he kept the gun in his hold.

_ "My men were able to find more information on your case and we discovered the man's whereabouts. We were also able to uncover the man's name."_

Alfred's eyes widened, abandoning his gun and holding the phone close to his ear to hear his friend better.

He heard the man tap a few keys on his computer before continuing. _"It says here that the man's name is Arthur Kirkland. Twenty six years of age, five foot seven, blond hair and green eyes. Born in the UK ..."_

The Japanese man grew quiet, the other end of the phone creating small static from the silence. _"... Alfred-san ... are you home at the moment?"_

He nodded, switching the phone to his other ear. "Yeah, I just got home, actually-"

_ "I would advise you to leave immediately."_

Alfred stopped, remembering just why he was holding his gun in the first place. "I'm busy at the moment, Kiku. I can't exactly leave right now."

_ "Listen to me," _his voice lowering an octive had surprised the American. _"It is too dangerous to be there right now. Please, just get out of there as soon as you can. That man, Kirkland, he-"_

A sudden loud thump came from the direction of Alfred's bedroom, the man quickly turning and aiming the weapon towards the sound. He walked carefully around the corner, his hands tightening around the handle of the gun.

"Sorry man, but I'm a little tied up right now. As soon as I'm finished, I'll leave, alright?" He rounded the corner and held the trigger close to firing, pausing as he saw nothing but his empty bed and nightstand.

Kiku had stood from his chair and ran to the door of his office, his shoes clicking against the floor was easily heard through the phone. _"I am coming over there now. On the file, it said Arthur Kirkland lives in the east side of this city, in an apartment building near the police station you work at."_

Alfred froze, his ears straining to listen closer as Kiku explained more. There was only one apartment building within a three mile radius of the station, the rest were simple bars and high-dollar company headquarters. That's why he chose to move to this one, because it was the closest to his job.

_ "Do you understand how dire the situation is now?"_

His hands felt clammy, his skin starting to sweat and his fingers began to twitch and shake. Was the murderer living in the same complex as him the whole time? How was that possible? He was sure every lead in the investigation would have told them just where he was hiding! He was right under his nose, and he didn't even notice a damn thing.

_ "Alfred-san?"_

His mind raced as he began to put the pieces together. The reason Kiku and his men had so much trouble finding out the murderer's personal information, Alfred nearly running around in circles trying to find him, him being the only survivor of the case for this long, he was hiding in plain sight.

He was watching him.

He knew where he lived, where he slept, where he ate. He didn't need to track him down, he was right next door. He could walk in at any time and-

His eyes widened in understanding, his body turning to look behind him just before a hard hit was delivered to his head, knocking him out cold. His gun and phone skid to the floor, Kiku's voice hardly audible from where Alfred landed.

_ "Alfred-san, are you there? Alfred-" _A foot smashed the phone into pieces, the screen cracking as the sides scattered into different directions across the bedroom.

* * *

His head hurt.

It felt like a throbbing pain that wouldn't go away, no matter how many aspirin he took. It was like a bad hangover, though he couldn't ever remember drinking more than one beer last night ...

Alfred's eyes snapped open and he sat up, focusing around the room to find where he was. Nothing looked familiar: An old grandfather clock ticked in the corner of the room, the table near him looked to be of a classic style, much like the rest of the room's decor. He was lying on a couch, the red velvet cushions soft against his body.

Alarmed, he fumbled around the inside of his jacket, patting around and searching with his hands when he failed to find what he was looking for.

"You wouldn't happen to be searching for this, would you?"

His head jerked to the source of the voice, seeing a man dangle his gun by the tip of his index finger, his hands also covered by his own gloves.

Just like the man in the picture, unruly blond hair, thick eyebrows, and green eyes. His stature was small, but he looked more than capable of taking him in a fight. He reminded himself that he was the one who knocked him unconscious in the first place.

The man noticed his eyes flicker to his hands for a moment. "Ah, yes. Well, I didn't want to just leave your weapon on the floor for your friend to find, much less with my finger prints on it. I had to pick it up somehow."

"Give it back."

"I beg your pardon?"

Alfred paused, scowling as he noticed the man was teasing him. "Give. It. Back." He growled through gritted teeth. He made a reach for the gun, a stupid move on his part.

Arthur gripped his wrist, spinning him around with his arm folded over, bending him down towards the ground as he kicked him to the floor.

The American stood up quickly, guarding his face as Arthur tossed the gun towards the couch and hooked a punch near his cheek, Alfred blocking it with his forearm. He kicked forward, aiming at Arthur's stomach with brute force before the man dodged and pivoted, his hips twisting as he delivered a blow of his elbow to Alfred's chest.

He gasped, choking on the saliva that had been swallowed in his throat, the air being ripped from his lungs as his body failed to catch him on time. He collapsed onto the wooden floor with a dull thud, his eyes straining to keep up with where the Brit was. His glasses were gone, knocked from his face and probably lying in the corner of the room somewhere.

The man's figure was a blur, the faint outline of his suit was barely registered as Alfred felt his foot land on his abdomen, effectively making him gag and squirm under his weight.

Arthur twisted his heel and dug into his skin, the shirt folding and curling with his movement.

It had felt as though the man was crushing his liver, Alfred only able to let out a gurgled cry before Arthur pushed down all the way, the American almost believing he had ripped his skin as his body curled up in a spasm, his mouth opened wide in a silent gasp for air.

"S...stop..." He coughed, air returning to his lungs as the Brit got off, stepping back and letting the man have room to stand.

His fingers clutched his stomach, already feeling a bruise form near his ribs. He winced, his eyes squinting in pain and he hunched over in front of him, his knees shaking and his left leg buckled slightly as he managed to move to Arthur.

The Brit made no attempt to move, only standing with his arms at his sides and a cocky grin plastered on his face.

Alfred continued to shuffle past him and to the couch where he knew he would have the upper hand. He rushed ahead, reaching for the weapon on the couch cushion.

Using the chance, Alfred grabbed the gun and aimed it directly at Arthur's head. Pulling the trigger, he waited for the recoil of the gun and the sound of the weapon firing, only to be met with silence and a smirking Brit.

"My, you sure are a dim-witted bloke. Were you really believing that I would leave the bullets in there? You'd be out of your mind to think that I'd let you get a handy-cap." He sat himself on the edge of the table, crossing his legs in a polite manner before speaking again. "Honestly, why can't you just behave and show some respect for your host? Americans show no manners these days ..."

"Where the hell am I?!" He finally spit out, his lungs feeling as though they would burst any second. He wanted answers. Now. "I'm tired of playing your sick games."

Arthur clicked his tongue. "I suppose even you can be a spoil sport, but it's only fair." He gently took the gun from Alfred's hand, setting it back on the table near his leg. He began to peel Alfred's gloves from his hands, pinching the fingers and pulling until the fabric slid off with a comfortable ease before he dropped them on the table with the gun. "I'm sure you figured it out by now. We're in the same complex as your apartment, only we're just a floor below your room."

He gestured to the ceiling, as if trying to prove that they were indeed a floor down from Alfred's previous fight before. "Directly under it, more precisely. I wanted to make sure I had the right spot before I could do anything to you." He winked, sending an uncomfortable shiver down the taller blond's spine.

Alfred never responded, only narrowing his eyes, trying to focus on the man in front of him. He had to find his glasses later, when he had the chance to. For now, he sighed and stepped back towards the couch. He knew leaving would be close to impossible, he guessed Arthur would keep an eye on him at all times. Fighting him wasn't going to help, in his current condition, no less.

He softened the grip on his abdomen, finally able to sit down as he could breath a little better then before. He leaned back to stretch his chest and get more air into his lungs, only succeeding for awhile before sitting up again.

Arthur watched as the American had leaned back on his sofa, his stomach stretching to the point where his untucked shirt risen above his hips to reveal slightly muscled skin as he let out a few short breaths. However, Alfred's body still seemed tense, and not just from their spar earlier.

"Oh, come now, I'm not going to kill you here. Stop putting up your guard, would you?" He rolled his eyes, standing from the coffee table and brushing off what little mess was on his trousers. "I'm going to make us some tea-" He faintly caught the alarmed look on Alfred's face before he smiled. "-and no, I'm not going to poison you with it."

When the Brit disappeared behind the corner, Alfred reached into his jacket for his handcuffs, hoping they would be enough. His fingers were searching for the cold metal before he realized that Arthur must have took them while he was out.

Said man came back a minute later, two cups of tea placed neatly side by side on a small silver tray.

Alfred took the cup from his hands, hardly holding it by the tip of the handle, the contents threatening to spill from the rim. He was holding it like it had some kind of disease.

As he sat down, Alfred had asked if Arthur could switch cups with him. The Brit rolled his eyes and watched as Alfred took a hesitant sip before asking to switch the cups back.

"Will you stop doing that? Do you realize how many germs you're spreading when you do that? Pick one and stick with it."

"How will I know you didn't poison one of them?" He asked, sniffing the contents of the one he currently had.

"Because I drank out of both of them, too, you bloke. If I had any intention of murdering you, I would have done so in a much better fashion. Otherwise I would be killing myself as well."

Alfred looked down at the drink before sipping it again, deciding to keep the cup. "And while we're on that subject, why don't you answer my question now?" He felt less uncomfortable than he was before, but he still had kept on alert. Arthur may seem like a gentleman, but this man was responsible for his colleagues' deaths. If anything, he should be in a body bag by now.

_ Why has he not killed you yet? _

Kiku's question rung in his head for a moment, his eyes narrowing at finding the answer. How the hell would he know? Maybe he was just waiting for the perfect moment. He worked with these kinds of people before, he knew how they operated. Psycho killers always had a pattern to follow: whether it was something their victims had in common, or the time their murder was placed, they followed those rules by their own game.

Arthur was no different. He had to have _some _reason.

The men that came back always returned a few days after they were taken, though their mental stability wasn't even enough to consider normal. Which meant this man was most likely going to keep him around for awhile. Make him squirm, perhaps torture him until he was at the peak of insanity.

Alfred swallowed, feeling his stomach churn a bit from anticipation and anxiety. He was probably one of those sick fucks that got off on watching people suffer through his games.

"And that would be...?"

"Why did you not kill me?"

Arthur set the cup down, placing it on the glass saucer that was sitting on the table between them. He cleared his throat quietly, folding his hands over his legs that were crossed. His green eyes observed Alfred's form, the American looking as rigid as he was during their fight.

"Well," he began, leaning his head back against the chair he was sitting in, "I believe that I would be a fool to kill something that I had worked so hard to get my hands on."

"You had taken and killed almost half of the East side city's policemen. I'm having a difficult time believing that you lack the reasoning to kill me as well."

Arthur grinned, resting his head on his hand. "Do you not think you're special enough to me to live? It's a shame you have such low standards for yourself, I would have thought you considered being king of the world from the way you acted. Now it seems you're afraid of even fighting back at this point."

Alfred took a glance down at his stomach, grimacing. Of course he was, the Brit had beaten him twice and he was sure he was going to have a bruise somewhere. "That doesn't answer my question. You should be in jail, behind bars."

He gave a seemingly harmless smile. "I have no intention of being turned in, those cells are filthy and I much rather have my freedom. You're the law, aren't_ you _going to arrest me?" Said smile morphed into a smirk and the man stood from his chair, sauntering over towards Alfred.

The American was suspicious in his motives and his gaurd was up once again, feeling wary of his close presence. Believing the man was going to stop in front of him, his thoughts took a surprised turn as he found Arthur sitting on his lap, his knees on either side of his thighs.

He attempted to shove him off, to get away from him as far as possible. With a growl, Alfred made a move to push him off with his hands, the Brit catching his wrists just before they impacted with his chest.

"You're surprisingly weak considering your occupation. Or are you holding back, hm?"

Alfred's hands were immobile and forced above his head, his arms folding over the top of the couch as Arthur moved closer to his face. The man's free hand slid up his shoulder and his neck, holding his chin delicately and making him look up.

He knew he couldn't do anything to get out of his grasp, his body trapped and weak from their fight. The only thing he could do was scowl. "Disgusting piece of sh-"

He felt a solid slap hit his cheek that stung against the cool air. He hissed, turning back to face his assaulter.

"Oh, how I do despise that mouth of yours." Arthur's eyes narrowed, gripping his face harder with his hand, his thumb and fingers pressing against his jaw tightly. "Must you always curse in my presence?"

Alfred was going to retort, his jaw set in a forced line due to his hand. Opening his mouth to speak, he was muted by Arthur's lips that had found their way to his. His eyes widened and his mouth quivering slightly at the contact, the American trying to lift his arms up to push him away, but to no avail.

Arthur sighed, his mouth opening to release the pent up breath before connecting them again, his hips sliding forward until it was pressing flush against Alfred's stomach. He felt the man bite his lip, the gesture made to inflict pain on him, though the results were opposite.

The Brit gasped, however small the action was, and his head tilted, nearly deepening the kiss. His tongue was flicking over Alfred's own lips in hesitance, afraid that it would be bitten as well if he tried to go any further.

Alfred's eyes were squeezed shut, his lips still except for the motion from Arthur's mouth that made them kiss harder, closer together. He wasn't expecting Arthur to enjoy it so much, even after his attempt to scare him away by biting. That was when he felt his tongue glide across his lips in a smooth line, though it stopped once it lapped at his upper lip.

Arthur pulled his lips away, his breath a bit uneven as he stared down at Alfred's face. Despite the man's obvious bitter feelings towards their moment, his expression was most definitely a picture Arthur wouldn't forget any time soon.

His face was dusted pink, though his ears were red and he watched Alfred swallow as his throat bobbed up and down in nervousness. His eyes were glossy, but Arthur guessed they weren't caused by tears.

He reached up and stroked his lips with his thumb, kissing him again for good measure. "I can't kill you," Arthur chuckled, his eyes studying his face once more. "I've worked too hard to _earn_ you."

Alfred felt his breath on his cheek, turning his head to the side to avoid any more kisses. He was beginning to figure everything out, why Arthur was so willing to keep him alive. He must have wanted him all along, though it didn't explain why Arthur murdered all those before him.

His lips pulled back in a fixed scowl, he was starting to lose feeling in his arms, having them subdued for so long. How can someone just _kill _another person? He was starting to feel himself grow angry again, his head whipping back to look him in the eyes. "You sick fuck," Alfred began to jolt his hips up, anything to make him move off of him. He tried to pull his arms up, Arthur's hand pushing them down harder against the couch.

Arthur's body slid closer, his chest pressed against Alfred's as he tried to throw him off. His left hand snaked its way between them, moving to undo the top button on Alfred's shirt that was under his suit jacket. His body weight was enough to keep Alfred still, his movements hardly enough to shake him.

Alfred's head turned to look down, watching as Arthur began to unbutton his shirt. He felt his fingers slide down until enough of his chest was revealed under the white fabric. The opening of his shirt was spread wider, Arthur's hand ghosting over his skin until it reached his right nipple.

Arthur's thumb ran over it gently, feeling Alfred's skin jump slightly under his touch. He pinched it lightly, rolling it under his thumb.

Alfred's face morphed again into another heated scowl, his eyes sharp with the absence of his glasses. He tried to pull back from his touch, but his back was already pushed against the wall of the couch.

His chest had slid against Arthur's hand and the front of his suit, having squirmed under his touch. Another pinch was felt and something hot was hovering over his chest.

Arthur had dipped his head down, his hips sliding back to accommodate the space he needed to move. He breathed over the hardened flesh, his lips parted as he leaned in and took it in his mouth. His fingers tightened around Alfred's wrists, keeping them in place as he worked. He sucked, rubbing the nub between his lips gently before flicking his tongue out.

He stopped fighting back, the voice in his mind convincing him it was useless at that point. If this was what Arthur really wanted, he'd play along, if only to stay alive. He forced himself to relax, feeling Arthur's tongue run along his nipple, his hands limp and lax in the Brit's grip. His breath caught for a moment, a soft bite sending a tingle down his spine.

Arthur removed his mouth, giving one last lick before pulling his head up and looking at Alfred with a smirk. "That didn't take very much, did it?" His finger traced idly over his nipple, his hand venturing up to caress his neck. "A few touches here and there and you're already handing yourself over."

Alfred had nothing to say back, his mind blank with embarrassment and he couldn't think of anything to retort. His head fell back as that tongue, now all too familiar, ran up his throat slowly. A bite, a kiss, a lick, a sweet pattern that was repeated over his warming skin as Arthur's mouth stopped over his Adam's apple. He began to suck, his lips moving over the protrusion before settling on the spot of skin below his ear.

Arthur scraped his teeth over his skin, biting his ear lobe before he heard Alfred sigh under him. His chest rose with the intake of breath, his bare skin making short contact with his suit once again before he breathed out.

"Relaxed, love?" Arthur couldn't help but tease, a smile evident on his features as he sat up to look at Alfred with a hint of mischief in his eyes. He didn't wait for any answer, instead he busied himself with the American's jaw line, nibbling almost ticklishly along his jaw. A red mark followed after and he kissed him once more, getting a reaction from him this time.

Alfred's mouth was more eager than before, moving along with Arthur's and tilting his head just as the man tried earlier. His mouth opened and there was no harsh bite delivered, but the wet sensation of Arthur's tongue slipping past his lips and fitting into his mouth.

There was hardly any room to kiss each other without their tongues overlapping and a bit of drool had dripped onto Alfred's chin in the process. Arthur's own tongue darted out quickly to lick it up, not taking a moment to breathe before Alfred nudged his head forward to connect their lips again.

His hands shook against Arthur's grip once more, his arms straining to break through. He grunted into their kiss, frustrated with the lack of movement in his body.

Arthur felt the force against his hand, his fingers starting to ache with being stretched for so long to accommodate the size of Alfred's wrists. Arthur leaned down to push his head back against the couch, his body rubbing against the forming tent in Alfred's dress pants.

Alfred's lips twitched and he felt his hips jerk up slightly against his bottom, the Brit pivoting his own hips and releasing his tongue from Alfred's mouth. Taking the chance, he let his hand go and freed Alfred's wrists, expecting to get thrown off.

Instead, Alfred lifted them up and over the top of the couch, immediately gripping onto Arthur's thighs to pull him over his erection again. The Brit allowed himself to be pulled forward, feeling Alfred jerk under him as he rubbed against the American's obvious arousal.

"You fucking..." Alfred muttered under his breath, the words coming out a bit softer than he intended. He continued to rub himself against Arthur, closing his eyes and leaning his head back.

Arthur positioned them both on the couch, laying the American down on the cushions while he leaned over him. He sat between Alfred's open legs and palmed mercilessly at his clothed erection, eliciting a gasp.

His pants were feeling tight around his crotch, his cock hard and pushing against the restraints, but he kept them on. That didn't stop him from undoing Alfred's pants, starting with the button first. Arthur unzipped his pants and pulled them down. He stopped at the end of his thighs and traced his fingers around the spot on the American's briefs that became damp during their activities. "My, Mr. _Jones_," Arthur teased, playing his name on the tip of his tongue. "I was never aware just how eager you were."

The man chewed on his bottom lip, thrusting into his hand without any thought. The only thing he could focus on was that hand slipping into his briefs and the fingers wrapping around his length with a firm grip. "Ah," He swallowed hard, unable to keep his moan down as Arthur rubbed his finger on the underside of his cock.

Alfred's cock twitched in his hands. The Brit stroked him, and the man melted into his touch. He couldn't focus much anymore. He stopped caring that the hand stroking him belonged to a murder, a kidnapper. Their fight was deep down into the darkness of his thoughts and his common sense slipped away as he moaned from Arthur's incredibly slender fingers.

His own hand was reaching up to his eyes, covering them as a means to avoid the hungry stare he was receiving from the man between his legs. He knew he looked disgraceful; his mouth opened in another moan, he felt his face get warmer with each stroke, his other hand gripped at the cushions to hold on to _something _other than Arthur.

Arthur pumped faster, pre-cum slicked the palm of his hand and he couldn't keep his gaze off of the American. His legs were spread and he was breathing rough, his hips thrusting into his hand as he squeezed him particularly hard.

Blond hair was tussled between the pillows on the couch, the American's head falling back into them as his jaw went slack. "Ahh ... !" His legs shook for only a moment, his cock releasing into his hand without so much as a warning.

Arthur's fingers were coated with semen, some of the substance even reached his black suit. Using his clean hand, he reached down and petted Alfred's hair softly before kissing his lips a final time. "I'll run a bath for you to clean up in."

Alfred opened his eyes and removed his hand as he watched Arthur stand up and walk to the bathroom, hearing the water run in the bathtub. He sat up and pulled his pants up, fixing the belt and acknowledging the fact that he would have to undo it once again. He joined the Brit in the bathroom, avoiding his gaze as he took his shirt off.

Arthur had the warm water running and the tub was almost filled. He stood and brushed his pant legs off from the invisible dirt on the bathroom floor, heading out of the bathroom. "I'll leave you to your privacy."

"What's the point now?" The American shot him a tired glare, his voice hoarse and barely over a whisper. He dropped his pants as Arthur stopped in the doorway. It was a brief second before he continued out, not bothering to face him, and shut the door behind him.

Alfred had emerged himself into the deep tub, the water filled up to his neck. What semen that had flicked onto his stomach was starting to dry and he began to feel the water wash away what was leftover.

He knew once he got out he'd have to see Arthur again, but it was necessary. He was a captive, but his job required to get every ounce of information he could out of him. He did the right thing by playing along, he just wasn't sure how long he would last if he kept it up.


End file.
